The Relationship Revelation
by phwack
Summary: It took a year for him to even admit that he has feelings for her. When it finally occurs, Leonard isn't entirely sure what's happening.  3/3
1. Chapter 1

"You're in Amy's spot."

"Sheldon, I'm nowhere near- wait, _what?_"

The statement is so ludicrously absurd, albeit so Sheldon, that Leonard is, for a moment, rendered incoherent. He squints up at his room-mate-it's a stretch even at this point to call him a friend; he is, after all, dictating where Leonard can sit in his own apartment-and deduces that no, he isn't joking. Sheldon hovers over him, brows raised in his typically stern expression.

"As per our Relationship Agreement, Section Two: Routines, the spot to the immediate right of myself is now, and for the duration for which the relationship lasts, "Amy's spot"."

"Relationship?" Leonard repeats, dubiously regarding Sheldon. "Like our Friendship Rider?" _Please, Newton, say yes._

There it is, the scoff that he notes is forming before it's even auditory: the rolling of the eyes, the motion of Sheldon's hands flung up in his frustration. When he speaks, Leonard finds himself matching the exasperated tone at the back of his mind, just half a beat away from miming the words along with him.

"No, Leonard, _relationship._" The condescension is oddly welcome in the sea of uncertainty. Leonard notes that it's a sign of living with Sheldon Cooper for far too long that he's grown to treat change with aversion. "Given your experience, however brief, in the field, I would have thought that you would have been able to fill in the blanks, as it were, for yourself, but I see I still have to spell everything out for you." There's another scoff: another rock to cling to. "Amy is my girlfriend."

The revelation that washes over him had been suspected all along, but it doesn't prevent the wave from tossing him off-guard completely. Leonard gawks up at Sheldon, who in turn merely stares back, expectantly, probably expecting him to shift out his damn spot. Sorry, _Amy's_ spot. There's concessions for girlfriends in their own agreement, but neither of the physicists had any intention of ever having to take such sections into consideration, not least for Sheldon. Leonard recalls commenting that the pair of them obtaining super-powers was more likely, because, heck, radiation was a valid concern, whereas females who were willing to sleep with official nerds-they had membership cards to the Justice League, for crying out loud-and not expect payment at the end were in (sadly) short supply. Sheldon had heartily agreed.

After the briefest of silences, Leonard decides that, above all, he's happy for his friend - and slightly relieved. He cracks a grin.

"Hey, good for you. Didn't I say that you had feelings for her?"

The withering glance that Sheldon offers him is a life-raft. "Yes, how droll. _Feelings_ constitutes anything from loathing to admiration. However, if you're referring to the fact that I have an attachment to Amy Farrah Fowler beyond our previously agreed boy/girl/friend paradigm, then yes, I suppose you were correct." It almost pains him to admit it - the observation that Leonard had actually said something of note.

"Well, whatever." Leonard breezes past it. "I'm happy for you. When Amy comes over, I'll move." It's the wrong thing to say. He winces at the realisation.

Through clenched teeth, Sheldon sucks in an irritable breath. "If traffic is on her side and that infernal monkey hasn't feasted on her flesh in its nicotine-addled state, then she should be here in ten minutes. Thank you," he hastily adds as the spot in question is vacated. Sheldon beams. "In my original draft, Amy's spot-" Leonard imagines it as a proper noun, framed in capitals for all its reverence. "Amy's spot was to the immediate _left _of my own, in accordance with the traditional wedding arrangements, in which the woman stands to the left of the man to symbolise that he has accepted her love and in return gives his heart to her, but after further consideration, the thought of entertaining the erroneous myth that the heart is on the left side of the body was of complete repugnance to me."

"It's also currently occupied by the lamp, which you would have had to move."

"I hadn't considered that. By that degree, the light source that make my spot so desirable would have moved, rendering the entire consideration moot. Good job, Leonard, you're two for two today!"

Leonard knows that he's well within his rights to be irritated-in the Leonard Agreement, that is, his unwritten and yet personally revered pact thats consulted far more on his part than that stupid Roommate Agreement-but, as he regards his friend with a look native to any single person that considers Sheldon mid-way one of his diatribes, he notices the rare smile, the tiny quirk of the lips, that indicates Sheldon's true happiness. Its not the weird and quite frankly terrifying leer that he adopted for their ill-advised foray into supporting Raj's ego-trip, but the slightest hoist upwards of the lips that's ordinarily reserved for trains. Or Meemaw.

There's ten minutes to kill before Sheldon 2.0 arrives and Leonard feels that petty revenge for the countless times that Sheldon himself has made him squirm is imperative, if a little juvenile. The other man is bustling around the kitchen now, satisfied that his point has been made, and Leonard gravitates closer. He cants his hip against the centre island and smirks.

"So, when did you ask her out?"

Sheldon is currently buried in the fridge, but his shoulders communicate his disapproval of the question by the sudden concave dip they adopt. His voice returns, muffled. "I proposed that we alter the paradigm of our relationship last night during her date with Stuart."

"How am I only just finding out about this?"

The refrigerator is closed with a dull thud and Sheldon regards him another scathing look, clutching a Mountain Dew. "You never asked."

Oh, he's playing this game, is he? Leonard glares, all thoughts of patience banished the moment Sheldon's voice adopted its usual patronising tone. He has to wonder whether he does this on purpose, or if he truly is that oblivious.

"I'm your room-mate." The protest sounds feeble even to Leonard.

"Is it written in the Roommate Agreement that I bestow daily updates upon you?"

It's at that point that Leonard feels compelled to wish Amy luck, rather than congratulations.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: The lack of Shamy off and on screen was making me sad. This is my feeble attempt to make up for it.**


	2. Chapter 2

Leonard isn't entirely sure how it happened, but Amy has somehow managed to coerce Sheldon into giving her a goodnight kiss. It's pizza night, a day that's unofficially been dubbed as "Bring Your Girlfriend" night (its new found status was drawn attention to by a whining Raj, in lament of an absence of his own relationship, hastily hushed by Howard, because, heck, it hasn't been cleared by Sheldon yet in spite of the latter's apparent compliance), and by the time night descends, there's an air of domesticity to the group. The revelation is soiled somewhat by Amy's declaration.

"Well, as much as I've enjoyed promoting the build-up of atheroma and increasing my chances of a myocardial infarction with you all, I'm afraid I must turn in." There's the obligatory noise of protest, but she waves her hand. "I apologise. However, the extraction of tumours from monkey brain cells requires a steady hand, one that I doubt shall occur if I don't get an early night."

It's been a little over a year since eHarmony stumbled across Amy Farrah Fowler and deposited her in their lives. By that point, "it's best not to ask" is the general consensus among all but Sheldon. Apparently, the couple have endured the conversation before, because he saves them yet another diatribe.

"Good night, Amy." He doesn't get up.

Poor Amy looks somewhat disappointed, pursing her lips and folding her brow into a frown, but all at once, the cogs are turning and what follows is her own personal "Bazinga!": "I believe it's protocol for the boyfriend to see the girlfriend to the door and bid her farewell with a generous peck on the lips."

"I'm sorry, in what universe is this?"

There's an antagonising hum from Howard, never wasting an opportunity to get one up on Sheldon, but only Raj reacts, reaching over and flicking his knee from the floor. He's not alone in intending to see the subsequent reaction in all of its glory.

What ensues is a rapid fire argument—no, debate, the Shamy never argued—that not even Leonard can follow. The clatter of forks on plates grinds to a halt and eyes swivel in unabashed intrigue at the war of words between them, but after a particularly admirable attempt on Sheldon's part to compromise with a hug (personally, Leonard would have taken the offer and run) and an equally impressive ploy on Amy's part involving Meemaw, their debate appears to reach an end. Not an impasse - a begrudging conclusion that sees him nod uncertainly.

Sheldon doesn't mind being proved wrong by Amy. Leonard first proposed the hypothesis last Thursday, a week into the official "Shamy" saga (Raj maintains that it began the moment he and Howard entered Sheldon's data into that stupid dating site; the daft git has claimed all credit for uniting them), when his room-mate only once protested the viewing of the sixth Harry Potter film in lieu of the fifth. Raj had grown suspiciously quiet at this point, leading all parties to suspect his involvement in its loss, but a seemingly inevitable crisis had been swiftly averted by a reassuring pat from Amy—Sheldon had winced, but Leonard is still convinced that it was more for appearance's sake than anything—and the reminder that he didn't even like that one anyway.

He puts up the token irritation, but anyone else would have suffered a de-friending on Facebook and a termination of whatever agreement Sheldon had somehow coerced them into signing.

"Very well."

Eyes swivel to Sheldon in surprise; even Amy seems momentarily thwarted by the sudden concession. She blinks, but is soon smiling in spite of herself, head pitched shyly to her lap. They stand after an uncertain hesitation. There's a curious rearrangement of limbs in the open doorway, Amy rocking on her heels and Sheldon shuffling his feet, during which Leonard is conscious of the collective bated breath that hangs in the air between the rest of the group. He wants to barge in and smack both of their heads together, personally, but he refrains, occupying himself instead with an amused observation of the vain attempts the others employ to give the pair their privacy. By the time anything happens, they've abandoned such efforts in favour of staring in a manner not unlike one would at the zoo.

Amy places a hand on his shoulder, steadying Sheldon on both a physical and yet deeper level. He has, up until that moment, been avoiding her gaze and yet he looks up, shooting her a glance as if to implore her once more to abandon the ridiculous charade altogether. Fortunately, Amy relents. They wait just a moment longer, before she tip toes herself and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. Leonard decides that Sheldon definitely kisses her back.

It's a blink and you'll miss it moment, gone in a heartbeat on the draft from the door that Sheldon lamented so often—Leonard is forced to agree, for once—but there it is. In the armchair to his right, Leonard catches a short intake of breath from Penny, fought past the reluctant smile and a mouthful of pizza.

"Wow, thirteen months in and it's my second kiss. Aren't I a lucky girl?"

The comment prompts a laugh from all but Sheldon, not even his contrived intake of breaths, quick and successive, that indicate his only interest is in being part of the group. In those cases, he'll not only acknowledge sarcasm, but offer a counter to whoever was ill-advised enough to attempt it in his revered presence. Whenever Amy is concerned, he's deadly serious. The same frown creases his forehead, brows knitting so tightly together in an echo of his usual concern. It's an expression reserved for two people alone: his Meemaw and, more recently, Amy Farrah Fowler.

She smirks graciously as her teasing is well-received, for the most part, and offers him the same look that's usually compared between them, eyebrows raised in their trade of competition. There's a brief moment of silence; the rest of us look on with grins frozen in time, laughter subsiding.

"Good night, Sheldon."

"Good night, Amy."

He sounds relieved at the impending closure of the encounter that cast him so far out to sea and they share a smile that's almost sickening, until you realise their relationship is quite likely the least romantic ever to be construed as such. It's endearing, really, if you can get past the fact that it's Sheldon Cooper and he drew up a damn agreement choreographing their time together.

She won't push, even though Penny let slip that Sheldon's really the first steady relationship that the poor girl's ever had. Amy wants more than what Sheldon is perhaps ready to give, but Leonard reflects that, if anyone, she is the one to extract him from his comfort zone. She's not like Penny, his polar opposite and quite frankly intimidating, or even Bernadette, who acts more like a motherly figure than anything, treats him too much like a child. They're on the same, weird level, Amy and Sheldon, a place so deep into la-la land that no one's entirely sure how they arrived there. Whether the computer behind that powered the cogs of eHarmony knew precisely what it was letting the world in for or simply had a lucky break isn't clear; what is, is that their relationship makes more sense than most, as indicative of an impending apocalypse as it might well have been.

They're content to take it slow and, as they stand in the doorway, satisfied that the others have diverted their attention, only Leonard observes. He knows that Amy will wait, give or take a few drinks, because Sheldon is a lot of things, but credit to the man, he's loyal. He leans unconsciously closer, bestowing upon Amy his full attention, and the rare smile is there again, lips hoisted upwards in genuine happiness. It's kind of weird—Leonard can't shake the feeling that meteorites are poised to rain down from the heavens and consume them all—but, to be quite honest, who is he to comment on strange relationships? Sheldon regularly reminds him of the admittedly ill-advised sojourn into the realm of Leslie Winkle.

Army leans forwards and gives him a brief peck on the cheek. He only rubs it once with his sleeve. Yep, definitely weird.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I keep writing Howard as "Hogwarts". I think this is a sign, or something. Thanks for your lovely reviews! **


	3. Chapter 3

There's a tie on Sheldon's door. For a moment, Leonard simply stares at it, so foreign and out of place when considered in tandem with his roommate that he can't quite acknowledge its existence. He recalls in sonic clarity the conversation between them, something that seems to be a whole world away, not least because the last thing that Leonard had ever expected of _that _Sheldon was the necessity of the symbol.

To that end, Leonard realises that Sheldon has more than likely misinterpreted it's meaning, because this is Sheldon, the 34-year old virgin who operated at frequency beyond anyone else. He considers accepting it as is and permitting Sheldon his privacy, before realising that the man himself would not offer him the same courtesy.

Knock, knock, knock. "Sheldon?"

Leonard hears the sigh even before he's finished the first series of raps and, as he continues the relentless percussion that describes his vengeance, the soft, certain footsteps pad towards the door. They wait, expectantly; Leonard realises that Sheldon already has him figured out. He can picture the gangly weirdo waiting there, hands clasped at his coccyx and heels teetering patiently back and forth. It's not entirely clear who is humouring who as Leonard completes the pattern, but only when it finishes does the door swing open.

It only just strikes him, but Leonard is suddenly very grateful that Sheldon isn't flashing what his Momma gave him. No earthly amount of Roommate Agreements would prepare him for Dr. Cooper in his birthday suit.

"How may I help you?"

It's too dark to see clearly and Leonard had preoccupied himself with squinting at the hazy line of Sheldon's shoulders—they're a solid enough entity that he accepts the man is wearing clothes—but his roommate's voice prompts the revelation that he's staring. He clears his throat and gathers himself.

"Well, I don't know what you're doing in there, but-"

"Oh, I apologise, Leonard. I was under the impression that a tie hung from one's door was the accepted social indication that one is requesting privacy whilst engaging in coitus."

He did just say "engaging in coitus", didn't he? There's a moment of silence, broken only by their expectant breaths inhaling and expiring out of sync. The dim light prohibits any recognition of the expression on Sheldon's features, but Leonard can predict its infuriating familiarity: eyebrows raised, lips pursed, arms folded firmly across his chest. He knows he ought to say something and not stand there collecting flies, as his mother would so frequently lament, but the statement was so frank and so misplaced that he's rendered momentarily speechless.

Leonard finally settles upon the only plausible explanation: "Are you drunk?" He ventures. Sheldon did have the unfortunate tendency to remove his pants when inebriated.

"Leonard, don't be absurd."

A light is switched on over his shoulder, casting his profile into deeper relief. Illuminated from the back, Sheldon's features are shown in a muted light: five o' clock shadow clusters around his jaw, his hair is- well, it's sex hair and his forehead gives off the tell-tale glisten of minor perspiration. His white undershirt is on inside-out. He looks normal enough, Leonard reflects, for the observation to be far more terrifying than whack-a-doodle Sheldon. He's half expecting a flying pig to go soaring past the window.

"Oh, jeez, sorry, buddy. It can wait. I'll just-"

"No need. I believe I for one am sated. Amy?"

"Yes, Sheldon, thank you."

The voice that drifts over Sheldon's shoulder and down to Leonard's ear almost gives the poor man a heart attack; in his minor shock that Sheldon Cooper, Ph.D, has apparently succumbed to the lure of coitus (Leonard always knew that he was all talk), he had apparently forgotten that it took two to tango.

Sheldon nods. It's his usual, self-assured bop of the head, matched with a slight smirk that indicates he was fully aware of his own ability—_oh God, oh God, Leonard, shut up_—that makes the entire premise seem even more ridiculous.

"You see? So, how may we help you?"

We. "Um, ah, it's- Wolowitz, Koothrapali and I were going to the midnight showing of the Phantom

Menace in 3D and we thought you'd like to come along too, but if you're- ah, busy-" Oh, he's busy all right.

"Really, Leonard, we've established not a minute ago that that ship has sailed. Amy, would you like to come along?"

* * *

><p>Yes, she did, as it happens. Throughout the entire car journey, neither of them made any indication as to what they had been up to approximately an hour before; Sheldon sat up front, in his seat of eternal shotgun neighbouring Leonard's, while Amy found herself crammed between Howard and a mute Raj, the latter looking somewhat miffed at being rendered speechless for the night. The only time a look was passed between them transpired when Raj leaned over them both to commandeer control of the radio - it was exasperated, not particularly brimming with lust. Leonard isn't entirely sure what he had been expecting.<p>

They're in the line now, Leonard and Amy that is. The other three are off— well, he isn't entirely sure where. Raj had been whispering periodically into Howard's ear (he had attempted an impassioned plea to Sheldon, but there had been the predictable protest against saliva and breath and poor Raj had withdrew before his point could be made), until the latter lost patience and dragged him off, lamenting the questionable bladder size of Rajesh Koothrapali. Sheldon had trailed after them, not before employing his girlfriend and his roommate to "make themselves useful" by saving their optimum point in line.

Leonard calculates that he has precisely seven minutes alone with Amy during which to grill her. He wastes four of them both plucking up the courage to do so and then finding the words that won't make him sound like a complete pervert.

"Okay, spill."

Amy's brows knit closely together, plainly confused, and she tilts her head at him. "Excuse me?"

"You and Sheldon." Recognition dawns. She beams. "How in God's name did you get him to agree to— to _that?_"

She gives him a look that's purely Sheldon: the quirk of the lips, the look in her eyes that suggests she's up to something. "I don't have coitus and tell, Leonard."

All that's missing is a "Bazinga".

* * *

><p>"Alright, where is he?"<p>

It's a redundant question: it's Halo night so he, i.e. Sheldon, is currently sitting in his spot and, at the moment Penny practically flings herself through the door, he has taken it upon himself to rid Howard of his head. On screen, that is, though they have every reason to believe that, between the pair of them bickering, it would not have been out of place to envision it occurring in reality.

Raj, closest to the door and consequently the sound from the hall that drifted through it, had grown suspiciously quiet, but Leonard now realises that the intrusion had been brewing for quite sometime. Girls' Night had evidently drawn to a close. They may have ribbed Sheldon endlessly for his own allegiance to routines and schedules, but the fact remains that, as rigorously as Sheldon has coerced them all into following his plans, the girls too have been steered into Sheldon-dom by his ever-influencing idiosyncrasies.

Wednesday night, also known as Halo night and more recently Girls' Night, is the only time the various couples can be dragged apart. It's sickening, really, that they've fallen into such domesticity, but despite the constant acknowledgement of their routine, no one puts forth any effort to alter the arrangement.

After a brief moment's worth of gawking in bewilderment, Leonard realises what's happened: Penny finally managed to get Amy alone in order to harangue the poor girl for an account of her night of "passion" (Leonard decides that he'll remain from giving it the epithet in all seriousness until he's heard what Penny is currently foaming at the mouth to say) with Captain Misanthrope over there.

"Penny, you have a copy of my schedule. Not only that, but I took the liberty of taping one to our refrigerator, that you so regularly raid."

"Oh yeah? Is banging Amy in there?"

"_What?_" Howard is incredulous and even Raj squeaks. And so it begins.

Leonard hasn't said anything because, as much as he likes this new Sheldon who didn't freak out quite so much at physical contact (their hands had brushed during bathroom changeover time and he hadn't jumped a mile), he also treasures his life. He shrinks back into his chair. He ought to have known that Amy wouldn't have been able to contain herself.

Sheldon bristles, ignoring Howard. "If you must know, yes. I made the amendment shortly after she first seduced me."

The others are in hysterics now, but Leonard, who's had ample enough time to come to terms with the situation (frankly, its still a little weird), is far more interested in the revelation that what he had witnessed was apparently not a chance, not a freak of nature and all that is right in the world. What ensues is a brief battle between his curiosity and his better judgement; the latter naturally concedes.

"Hang on, is Amy okay with you scheduling... um, intercourse?"

"I must admit, I thought it was a little strange at first. She's always been so adverse to the more rigid—" Raj cackles. Sheldon glares. "— the more _strict_ areas of our agreement. I even made concessions for three spontaneous instances of coitus per month."

Sheldon clearly thinks that he's being magnanimous, but his comments only add to the absurdity of the situation. It's not yet clear where the conversation is going and Leonard very much wants to curl up into a ball, effectively forgetting the entire debacle right from the moment he chanced upon the tie on the door. Unfortunately, the others have not yet finished ribbing Sheldon. For the first time in his life, Leonard feels somewhat sympathetic towards him.

Howard has overcome his sudden bout of the giggles, resorting to a Cheshire cat grin that consistently betrays the attempt at seriousness he puts forth. "Wow, buddy, are you sure you're okay with this? I mean, two bodies, writhing in sweat and other bodily fluids. So much physical contact, so many germs!"

"Well, I'll admit that I was initially sceptical, but after the third occasion, I have to hold my hands up and say that I can see why you people insist on making everything revolve around coitus."

"Wait, how many "occasions" have there been?"

It's at this point that Penny, quite wisely, takes it upon herself to interrupt and Howard's question goes unanswered. She looks disapproving, fighting the urge to roll her eyes in a perpetual expression of disdain towards Howard's more lecherous tendencies. Leonard silently agrees.

"Don't you dare answer that question, Sheldon." Another look. Howard recoils. "Sweetie, I think it's really great. In fact, I—"

"Penny, I appear to have forgotten my— Oh. Hello."

In what is perhaps the worst timing that Leonard has ever chanced upon, Amy appears at her shoulder. Another round of giggles is imminent, muffled somewhat by the clout that Penny promptly gives both Howard and Raj with a nearby cushion. Sheldon is unperturbed, but his girlfriend is not - she eyes them with suspicion, her gaze passing first to the hysterical pair and then back to Penny, by way of fleeting glance towards Sheldon. _You're only about three days late, _Leonard silently remarks.

"While I'm aware that slapstick is a popular form of comedy, I was not aware that it had extended to forgetfulness," Amy continues, warily regarding the gathered group as though expecting something to reveal itself.

Only Sheldon takes it upon himself to explain. Sort of. "Good evening, Amy," he greets her, cheerfully. He gets to his feet and makes a point to step on Howard's toes as he crosses by the coffee table. They hug; the surprise at such a public display of affection is foregone somewhat by the recollection that they are now, for lack of a better turn of phrase, getting it on. "I believe their laughter, which _I do not condone—_" Sheldon fires them a withering look. "—is derived from immaturity as opposed to genuine comedy. It's a common affliction of the less intelligent."

"I see. Well, as I was saying, I appear to have forgotten my sweater. Twister does get awfully intense when there's red wine involved." Amy nods sagely.

Penny mumbles something, possibly with violent undertones, Leonard notes, and backs out to her own apartment, leaving the boys with Amy for an impossibly awkward minute or so. Fortunately, she isn't long; despite Sheldon's fretting otherwise, there's a degree of order to the chaos that reigns in 4B, something that only Penny is apparently able to decipher. The sweater is returned to its rightful owner in a heart-beat. Amy leaves with thanks and Leonard is counting down the moments before they let rip on Sheldon's bedroom escapades once more—Howard makes an admirable attempt at opening his mouth—but she's back again before anyone can put their foot in it.

"Sheldon, I've just realised: it's the first Wednesday of the month."

There ought to be another derisive remark—_I know my own timetable, Amy—_but instead, Sheldon nods.

"Silly me; how could I forget? Gentlemen; Penny..." Another nod; it takes a moment for Leonard to realise that it's one of farewell. It doesn't strike him until Sheldon is reaching for his jacket. "I'll see you in the morning."

It's not until the door closes behind them both that anyone else speaks. The shock is almost palpable and certainly universal to the apartment. The recently vacated front door still occupies most of their bewildered (mingled with terror, it should be noted) gazes, save for Leonard, who stares with such fervour at the pause screen that his vision begins to swim. It's a poor attempt at ridding his mind from the image of... well, _that_.

Penny ultimately severs the tension; she picks up Sheldon's abandoned controller and proceeds to hammer away at the buttons. It takes a particularly violent murder of Howard (again) to drag them from their shared horror.

"I can't believe he abandoned Halo night for _that,_" Leonard ventures. The strange sense of betrayal is somewhat hypocritical, he acknowledges begrudgingly. "I think I prefer the old Sheldon."

Penny shrugs._ "_Guess that's strike one for Moonpie."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I apologise profusely for the length XD Thank you, again, for your lovely reviews and for reading! **


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